


Gone

by We_Are_The_Cure



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John/Sherlock - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, john x sherlock - Freeform, sherlock and john - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-30
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 13:00:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1160016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/We_Are_The_Cure/pseuds/We_Are_The_Cure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds himself grieving over the recent death of his best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been practicing writing, I know it's not the best. I need to work on adding more descriptive terms ε-(´∀｀; )

Their hands desperately hung on to each other as John rests his head onto the sturdy chest of Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock's neck was bent ever so slightly, looking down onto the top of John's almost silver hair. Their bodies swayed to the beat of nothing, creating their own music with the sounds of their feet against the floor. The doctors arm felt comfort around the waist of the taller blokes shirt. Everything felt so perfect, so surreal. Dancing, there, no sounds but the ones they made, only the beating of Sherlocks heart pressed against Johns ears. Sherlock's warm touch was astonishly calming.

John snapped back into reality, jolting up from his bed to find himself dizzy and off balance. His head was throbbing as he lifted himself off of the bed, moaning under his breath. Everything was silent in the flat of 221b Baker street. In the place of sherlock running experiments or papers being jumbled, there was nothing. Soundless serenity, that was much less comforting than it sounds. he missed the strange sounds that used to come from Sherlocks fidgeting. All the things he used to hate about Sherlock came back and punched him in the face, making him mourn for it again.

He felt as if he would walk into the kitchen to find Sherlock asleep on the table, exhausted from his experiments, turning human enough to fall asleep. John'd have to take Sherlock back to his bed one way or another, wether it being waking him up or dragging him there. He rounded the corner to the kitchen to find nothing but empty chairs and papers flung about that haven't been moved but slightly when Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to try and clean up before John had shouted at her not to move anything.

The whole place was empty, filled with Sherlocks sent. John made sure not to touch anything of Sherlock's. He would be mad if he did, wouldn't he? Of course John thought to himself. He mustn't touch a thing. Sherlock would be irritated. John was afraid the sent of Sherlock would soon fade. He didn't want it to, he wanted to keep Sherlock as close to him as possible. Though little was possible in his current position. He thought talking to Sherlock would help, but it only made him sadder. Dust was already calming in Sherlocks spots. His chair, almost a different shade from being out of use.

John hadn't been eating, at least not as much as he should. He'd been on a steady diet of biscuits and tea since the accident. As he mindlessly stumbled into the kitchen he reached out to open the fridge. He found nothing but a jug of milk and some butter. He missed finding those body parts Sherlock had left that he hated so much. He missed everything, every inch of the flat there was something left to miss. Weakly slamming the fridge shut, he sluggishly hobbled to his phone, leaning on the counter for support. He flipped it open, the light blinding him from the unfamiliar screen.

He clicked to his contacts, the first one read "Sherlock". He opened a new message addressed to Sherlock Holmes. 

"I miss you. -JW".

He hit send. John wasn't sure what he was expecting from this. He knew there would be no reply, he knew deep down that it would probably just keep him lingering on Sherlock for longer.

A couple moments had passed that John spent staring at the open conversation, waiting for the reply that was never going to come. A low sigh broke the silence, John felt like the whole world shook in sync with his shaky breathing. He took in a desperate breath as he typed, slower than usual,

“I need you Sherlock. I need you not to be dead. -JW”

The send button was lightly pushed with a stammering thumb. John hung his pale head and cradled his forehead in the palm of his hand, throwing aside the phone to land on his chair.

He went about his days as he normally did since sherlock was gone. Moving apathetically throughout his daily business. His feet were heavy, the floor felt like wet cement. Everything was falling down around him, his whole world crumbling. And what for? A douche bag that he told himself he hated? He felt terrible. The only memories he had was of his harsh words to Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't that sensitive, right? Nothing could ever get to him, right? Wrong. 

It was nearing the end of the night, John, not tired enough to sleep, not active enough to move himself to his bed. He snatched his phone up feebly and dragged himself to Sherlocks room. Before he could realize what he was doing he had already wrapped himself in sherlocks bed sheets. The sweat smell of nicotine and tea that always ran over sherlock incased John. He though maybe he shouldn't be lying here, selfishly taking in the smell. The beautiful smell should be reserved. 

John stopped himself from thinking, longing to be wrapped up in the smell for an eternity. He took the phone that he had kept clutched so close to himself and brought it up to his face, the burnished screen lighting up the dark room. 

"Sherlock? -JW"

"You're keeping me up all night again. -JW"

There was a pause in his texting for quite some time, then it picked back up.

"I miss you so much. -JW"

He threw his phone down and ripped the covers over his head so he could be surrounded buy just Sherlock. The only thought in his brain. Sherlock. He was curled into a lengthy ball, thinking over the architecture of the image of his lost friend that was stored in his mind. Minute after minute passed, no movement, no sound, nothing. He snagged at his phone again.

"I keep expecting you to show up one day. But you don't, you never do. -JW"

No reply.

"I know you'd want me to let go. But sherlock, I can't. I can't let go. -JW"

All hope was lost, John knew that nothing good would come out of texting a dead man's phone. But he did any way. He kept trying.

"Sherlock, you can't be dead. You just can't. You wouldn't leave me here unless you had too. Right? -JW"

"Then what's your excuse. -JW"

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
"Sherlock, don't make me join you. -JW"

Nothing. John was going to end it. He studied the fist full of pills that he had in one hand, the phone in the other. It took him what seemed to be years to get his gaze off of his palm. He thought about how empty his life was now, Sherlock had died, and he had too much faith. He thought that sherlock would never be selfish enough to leave him like that but it turns out he was wrong. Heck, John thought he would never be selfish enough, but here he was. People change. Never for the better, he thought to himself. People just corrode, leaving behind an empty shell.

"See you soon, Sherlock. -JW" 

His fingers shook, hitting send with a new found courage. A fire lit in his stomach, fueling his hasty movements. His hand moved quickly, but was interrupted.

"Don't. -SH"

John saw the number and jumped to his phone, dropping the pills. His hand started to shake uncontrollably. 

"Sherlock? -JW"

He had almost not been able to type the word, his thumbs jumping everywhere. The fire that was set in his stomach was replaced with nausea and insects. He waited for what implied to be ages.

"Sherlock. Please, just let me know that that was you. -JW"

His entire complexion was shaking, everything jittery and unsettling. He typed with unfamiliar anger, one that wasn't there before. Questions started to brew in his psyche. Was this all just to avoid him? If he would've backed off, or left, would Sherlock have done this? Was this all John's fault, everything that he was going through? He began to get a headache, his vision blurring slightly.

"Did you do all this just to avoid me? -JW"

He convinced himself that someone had gotten ahold of Sherlocks phone, weather it be someone he knows or someone who may have picked it up, believing it to be a lost phone. Someone who felt bad for this sad sap that constantly texted the lost number, mourning over the death of their friend, thought that not telling them was giving them some sort of closure. Letting them think that they had one small connection to the lost. Not interfering until it involved a death.

It was the farthest from closure John had ever felt.

"Who ever this is, I'm sorry for bothering you. -JW"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a short one, I had to get it done quick so that I still have time for studying

That text had given John hope that Sherlock was still out there, which he wasn't sure was a good thing or a terrible thing. His days didn't change much, he started to wish he could just forget. Forget Sherlock, forget this flat. Forget the bloody face of his dead best friend on the pavement outside of the flat. John had so many questions, questions that couldn't be answered. He had been trying to reach whoever it was that texted him that night for a week now, no replies, no nothing. He even called the number a few times, just the answering machine.

Ideas began to spark. Maybe if he staged another life threatening event over text he would get a rise. He floundered to a sitting position on the floor next to sherlock's chair. This was spot of his for a while now, carefully resting his back onto one spot as not to corrode the aroma away. Today was one of John's better days, he actually brewed up the courage to go to the market down the street to get groceries, which is what Mrs. Hudson had been doing for him the majority of the time. He made himself a cuppa in the morning, bathed, and got some cleaning done. In his room of course, no where else. He would never risk that.

He reached over to his phone, following the same pattern he had been lately while attempting to get somewhere with this texting business. 

"If this actually is Sherlock, I want you to know, I'm sorry. I wish that I could've kept myself alive long enough to see you again in person. -JW"

"Goodbye, Sherlock. -JW"

There was a long pause, but in the end, scratch. John sighed. He tried to blow it off, sliding his phone aside on the hardwood floor. He stood up taut, getting dizzy slightly in the process. 

He fell back in his chair, staring back at the empty one across from him for hours, waiting for a reply. He would occupy his time by reading the paper that Mrs. Hudson brought up to him every evening. He felt somewhat guilty, that he had been living off of her this whole time, but brushed it off in the end. John had kept his communication to a minimum, exclusively to Sherlock's number. People where concerned but backed off when John ordered them too.

"John? -SH"

"Please tell me you're alright. -SH"

"I was busy. -SH"

John was too weighed down to bother himself to get up and get the phone that still laid across the floor that went off 2 - wait no - 3 times, its screen flashing on each beep.

"Oh god. -SH"

"John? -SH"

He was sure it was just Greg, maybe Mrs. Hudson? All he knew is that they where obviously trying somewhat hard to get ahold of him, so he gave in. He trailed himself sluggishly over to his phone, dropping onto the floor so he could reach the phone without much work. Butterflies filled his stomach.

"Sherlock, I swear if you don't answer this again and just leave again like last time-" He paused, deleting the text, he needed to treat this softly, so he might actually get a reply.

"Sherlock. -JW"

"You better not leave me like last time, and tell me what the fuck your problem is. -JW"

Screw treating this softly, John was furious. It was clear that Sherlock cared about John still, so all questions about Sherlock trying to avoid him had been carelessly thrown aside. 

"John, I'm sorry, I can't talk to you. -SH"

"Why the hell not? -JW"

"It isn't safe. -SH"

John wasn't sure why, but tears where beginning to brim the bottoms of his eyelids. Irritation and impatience began to swell inside of him.

"Why not? It's been 5 months, Sherlock. 5 months."

He waited 10 minutes, desperately checking his phone every few moments. Sherlock didn't reply. Without realizing until after the deed was done, John's phone was chucked across the room, hitting the far wall, the back popping off along with the battery falling out. The echo of the crash rang throughout the flat, only making John that much more aggravated.


End file.
